William Shakespeare peered across the room. A sad-looking dark-haired girl sat at a table on her own. After scrutinising her arse for a few seconds, Shakespeare decided he should go over to see what was wrong.
"You all right?" he enquired.
"Ahh, ...

"Well of course you're losing," said Sophie Ellis-Bextor. "Why do you insist on wearing those clownish clothes even when you're doing sport?"
"There's nothing clownish about them," spat William Shakespeare, turning to pick up the volleyball once again.
"You've got no freedom ...

"Just a coffee please, Neil," said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.
Neil Codling from Suede placed the order in perfect French then smiled at Ellis-Bextor.
"You seem to speak the language very well," she said.
"Yes, I lived here for a year or two," said ...

“Fuck, that’s steep,” said William Shakespeare, eyeing the giant rollercoaster in front of him.
“It’s the steepest in the world,” replied Sophie Ellis-Bextor.
“Not the biggest?” asked Shakespeare as a man ushered them towards two vacant seats.
“No, but the biggest doesn’t necessarily mean the best, as I keep trying to tell you.”
Ellis-Bextor took her seat and Shakespeare settled down next to her. Suddenly, he turned towards her and with an alarmed look, asked: “Are you talking about my balls?”
Ellis-Bextor grinned. “No, your penis, stupid. I was talking about your teeny-tiny,...

“Let’s get some breakfast from this bread shop,” said ex-England left-arm seam bowler, Alan Mullally.
“You’re ordering,” said William Shakespeare.
Mullally led the way through the open door. “Why am I ordering?” he asked. “I don’t speak French.”
“Because,” said Shakespeare meaninglessly. It was hot in the boulangerie. He pulled his sheer linen collar away from his skin in a pointless bid to release some of the warmth from his body.
“Bonn joo-er,” said Mullally to the immaculately dressed girl behind the counter.
“Bonjour,”...

Toadfish Rebecchi unfurled a languid drive and the ball sailed down the middle of the fairway. He picked up his tee and nodded to William Shakespeare.
Shakespeare, clad in a large, swooshing doublet covered by a voluminous coat despite the searing heat, plucked a wooden club from his golf bag and placed his ball on a tee. He addressed it with an awkward, hunched-over stance. For a moment, he stood motionless and then he drew the club back slowly. Before it reached the perpendicular, he brought it back down again with a wild, hacking motion. The ball sliced off to the right, into some trees.
“Fucking...